Cora (Virtue & Vice #4)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

CORA

C ora stared straight ahead. She might have been trussed into a formal wedding gown, but her veil was a perfunctory nod to the occasion. Her act of rebellion. A thin scrim of stiffened tulle draped from the small hat pinned to her head—if a wide band of beaded silk could properly be called such—to her chin. No cathedral-length nod to modesty for her.

Twenty minutes from now, she would be a wedded woman. Whatever sat on her head did not signify in the slightest. She worked her fingertips over the ribbon holding her bouquet of white roses.

“You’re sure about this?” Lysander asked quietly.

No.

“Yes.”

Her heart thudded in time with the dirge of an organ player. Lysander led her up the aisle of the private chapel. As small as it was, it felt cavernously empty.

Startlingly pretty, though. Bright winter sun streamed through stained-glass windows. The austere marble columns caught the light and made the space glimmer. The glossy wooden pews were old but well cared for. Lysander squeezed her arm before moving to stand beside Eryx and Annalise. Only three people from her side had come to witness this travesty of a wedding.

Standing beside him, she took a fortifying breath. The ball of hurt in her chest tightened into a knot that would never come undone.

Wentworth barely glanced at her as she took her place.

She could do it. Pick up her skirts and run away.

But she wasn’t doing that this time. Never again would she run away from this man. She would be cold and cool. Maintain her distance and her dignity at all times.

She spoke words.

His lips formed the same meaningless syllables. What did it mean to love and cherish someone you hated with all your heart and soul? She did not trust Wentworth to care for her from this day forward, in sickness or in health. She did not trust him at all. She never would.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Cora’s vision narrowed into a pinhole. She’d forgotten about this part of the ceremony. Her tongue darted out in anticipation.

It was very cruel of nature to have gifted Gideon Wentworth with a mouth like that. His lips were the only soft part of him, and for once, they were not twisted into a smirk. Mother Nature had gone out of her way to craft a diabolically handsome man, then given him the personality of a devil.

The air between them was charged. Electric. Cora held her breath, waiting.

“Well?” she prompted when he simply stared at her.

The banker— her husband —startled as if he’d been lost in reverie staring at her veiled face. Carefully, he pinched the tulle and raised it.

Then he bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

Cora’s eyes fluttered closed. For some reason she had expected his kiss to be cold, but he was warm— so warm . He tasted faintly of mint and his skin carried the scent of sandalwood tinged with something muskier. She hated the way he smelled better than any man she had ever met.

Most of all, she hated the way her body yielded to him instinctively.

The instant his mouth met hers, the knot inside Cora’s chest loosened fractionally. Air rushed from her lungs. She turned lightheaded, breathing him in. He kept their kiss light and brief, as befitted a solemn occasion. His hand came to her elbow, a meaningless gesture, but the contact turned her insides to jelly.

She broke off with a gasp.

She would not turn weak in the knees for this man.

With her heart pounding in her throat, Cora raised her gaze to meet his. She couldn’t not look at him, though everything inside her screamed in warning. What a waste to bestow the severe beauty of an avenging angel upon the worst man ever to live.

His eyes were a deep shade of umber, like the shadows of a Rembrandt painting, flecked with lighter hints of amber and framed ornately with a thick fringe of lashes. Beautiful eyes, haunted with regret and hard with determination.

Alight with triumph.

She didn’t even know what game they were playing, and she’d already lost.

* * *

Gideon

Mine.

The word throbbed in his mind with each beat of Gideon’s heart. Waves of triumph and terror pulsed through him.

Now that he had her, what was he going to do with her?

Beyond the obvious, of course. The thought of finally, after all these years, touching her satin skin turned his palms damp like a schoolboy in the grips of his first crush.

Yet Cora kept a cool distance even as she tucked her gloved hand into his elbow and allowed him to lead her down the aisle to damningly faint applause. This was his parents’ private chapel, attached to the mansion Gideon’s grandfather had built almost a century before when this section of London was still more countryside than city. He maintained his own lodgings and had ever since he grew weary of his mother’s constant attempts to meddle in his love life.

“Welcome to the family, Cora,” his father said, bowing. Gideon’s mother, Martha, kept her expression carefully blank but for the slight flattening of her lips. She inspected his bride with apparent scorn, but his instinct to put his wife protectively behind him was unnecessary, for Cora simply returned her gaze, unflinching, and answered, “Thank you.”

Not, I am pleased to be here. She obviously wasn’t. To her credit, she didn’t lie.

The faint creak of a wheel indicated Reggie’s presence. Cora’s attention shifted to his brother, and a hint of warmth flared in those icy green depths.

“You must have interesting stories to tell.”

Reggie beamed. Gideon suffered a rush of emotion he identified belatedly as envy. He was jealous of his brother. Imagine, he, an able-bodied man, envying a man who couldn’t walk.

Yet he did. He couldn’t even be angry with Cora. If anything, her kindness toward his unlucky sibling made his heart swell with a pained mix of pride and covetousness.

He wanted that look directed at him, and no one else.

“You’ll have all of luncheon to regale her with tales of reading books about places you’ll never visit. Then we must get her settled at home.”

“Gideon.” His mother’s exasperation was well-earned, as was the disdainful look his wife cast him. He instantly felt contrite.

“With apologies, Reg.”

His brother’s knowing smile irked him greatly.

“I understand wanting to celebrate in private. I would, too,” Reggie said wistfully.

Remorse flashed through Gideon. Reggie’s cock worked, though his legs did not. He longed for a family, but his chances of finding a wife who was willing to overlook his infirmity were not high. He owed his brother a chance to feel the soft warmth of a woman’s genuine interest, but greedy bastard that he was, Gideon wanted to keep Cora’s attention all to himself.

They sat at the luncheon table bedecked with crystal and white flowers. Everything white. His mother’s decision. Not a speck of color. Cora cautiously warmed to his sisters, especially to their children, whom she appeared to find charming. Did she like babies? They hadn’t discussed the prospect during their negotiations. Gideon had been too consumed with possessing her to think beyond the wedding day. He hoped he wouldn’t have cause to regret his lack of foresight.

“To good health, long life, and may you be blessed with many children,” his father said by way of a toast. Across the table, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder raised their glasses. The duke barely lifted his. His antique-gold hair was slightly disheveled and his posture belligerent as he exchanged a speaking glance with his half-sister.

Defiantly, Cora lifted her glass and said, “To family.”

The duke’s mouth twitched into a reluctant smile, prompting Gideon to wonder whether there were hidden depths to their relationship.

“My son must pass on the Wentworth legacy, as his father did, and his father did before him,” Martha declared.

Cora’s lips parted as though to speak, but a second later they closed as if she’d thought better of whatever she’d been about to say. She cast a curious glance at Reggie and took a delicate bite. The sight sent a swell of desire tenting his trousers. He was ready to get started with the intimate celebration. It remained to be seen whether his wife was truly agreeable or merely paying lip service.